


A Smashing Homecoming

by misfitdove



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 00:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17991728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitdove/pseuds/misfitdove
Summary: John comes home after returning from war and giving up Mary.





	A Smashing Homecoming

John heavy footfalls climbs the steps to Sherlock's flat. 

He isn't sure he entirely Sherlock, who is estranged from him because of Mary, wants to see him, despite the younger's constant begging to see John. 

He's been drinking. Lots of scotch and whiskey but he still doesn't know if he'll be able to control himself tonight. 

When he opens the door he notices it's been redecorated. Sherlock has surpassed even himself and his natural interior decorating skills. What is especially remarkable is that the apartment is strewn with origami flowers. On the table there is a glass of wine waiting for him. 

John downs it quickly. He knows what this means. 

_Sherlock you little tempter._

The thought of holding his slender love's sweet body close to him is so great it's nearly painful as he enters Sherlock's bedroom. A low groan escapes from deep in his throat when he sees him and beholds the beauty that is Sherlock wearing a pink teddy and sashaying his hips as he coyly walks up to John now standing frozen in lust at the threshold. 

John immediately "Oh my precious Sherlock, what are you wearing?”

Sherlock bites his lip, suddenly shy. "I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to wear something nice. Perhaps that's all this is?" He tips up his nose and it makes the blood pound hard in John's groin.

"Sherlock, turn around. Let me see your luscious ass before I bend you over your desk and look for myself." He growls. 

Sherlock ducks his head, a pretty light blush creeping up his pale cheeks, and looks back up at John coquettishly through long lashes. He gives a slow yet perfectly graceful twirl. "Oh John, I--" He trails off when he sees John's eyes are dilated black and there is a burning heat in the deep lines of intensity on his face. Before he knew 

 

they smell divine

 

 

 

John’s back hits the opposite wall and Sherlock crowds into his space, wrapping his long fingers around either side of John’s hips. He purses his lips and grows even more steadfast when his fingertips touch fabric that is wet with blood.

 

 

 

John suddenly crushes their mouths together and takes Sherlock’s lower lip in between his own. They grip each other tightly, Sherlock pressing John’s body against the wall more forcefully. He gets his tongue into John’s mouth for a word edgewise, but quickly loses out to John’s obsession with sucking and licking his lower lip.

“God, you’re delicious,” John declares in between kisses.

“Mmph…” Sherlock’s hands slide from John’s hips to gently cup his ass. He wants to be mindful of the man’s injury, but absolutely MUST have that ass in his hands. As soon as his fingers give those perfect round cheeks a light squeeze, John begins making the most obscene sucking sounds with the detective’s lower lip. He suddenly shoves Sherlock and twists his own body until he has the detective pinned up against the wall. His hand grasps the back of Sherlock’s neck and hauls him down for a heated kiss.

Both are licking and biting. John’s hands tilt Sherlock’s head to deepen the kiss. Soon his fingers tangle in dark curls. Sherlock clutches at his ass just a little too hard, but it isn’t enough to stop John. He grabs Sherlock by the lapels and pulls him away from the wall, backing toward the nearest countertop. What he doesn’t consider is the height of the drawer handles in relation to the injuries on his bum. John lets out a short yelp of pain when his cheek hits the counters and the handle digs in.

“AHHHH!” John’s back goes ramrod straight and every muscle, from head to toe, tenses. His hands release Sherlock and shoot down to the countertop to push himself away from it. Understanding immediately, Sherlock steps back and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, god, John! I’m sorry! Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m all right. It’s my own fault,” John grunts as Sherlock helps him down to his hands and knees on the floor. Sherlock is on his knees by John’s side.

“Will you be all right?” he asks with concern. “The police and medics will be here any moment.”

“I know, I know,” turning his head to look at Sherlock with a pained smile. “God, what you do to me.”

“What  **you**  do to me,” he leans forward to gently press his smile to John’s and closes his eyes. The small man sighs and his lover whispers against his lips. “Will you let me see?”

John sighs a little deeper and pulls back to look Sherlock in the eye.

“Okay,” John reaches for his flies with one hand. Sherlock slowly and very carefully pulls the blood-stained jeans down to John’s knees and then slips the left side of his red pants down enough to survey the damage.

“It’s not terrible,” his voice catches. “You’re going to need stitches.”

“I thought as much,” John groans.

Sherlock scrambles up to fetch a clean dish towel. He then drops to his knees again behind John and presses the towel against John’s still very delectable ass. John shifts forward like he’s going to crawl away, but Sherlock’s hand lands on his hip and pulls him back until his bum is flush against the taller man’s thighs. John glances back and rolls his eyes.

“Well, this isn’t going to look awkward when the police get here.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock smirks. “I think it’s quite a picture from here.”

“I bet you do,” the corner of John’s mouth curls up. They hear sirens approaching, soon followed by squealing brakes and car doors slamming.

“How’s Greg?” Sherlock asks, passing the time. He presses the towel a little harder and John winces.

“How do you think?” John feels a nudge to his ass as they hear footsteps rushing up the stairs. “Sherlock?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thought of holding his love’s body close to his now that the sickness had left was as warming to him as the stones that comprised the steps that separate him from that very pleasure were cold.  The only thing colder perhaps was the heart of that same love.  To be able to behold the beauty that is John fully clothed in Ydarkra Rohn’s finest is its own glory.  To see his nude, honeyed skin luminescent in the glow of candlelight? That glory is even more so.

_Oh I wish the gift of painters to honor that glow!_

Though he gathered his darquan would not consider renderings of his naked form decorating the walls of the palace to be such an honor. Even the indigo dyes upon his forehead, temples and neck that permanently mark his station as Darquan just seem to add to his beauty. To hold such beauty oh so close to his own body and not being able to do a damned thing more was such an excruciatingly sweet torment as to cause him actual physical pain. 

Knowing he was the cause of the rift, does not help.  Yet he gave his word as Darkran he would not to forcibly take what was rightfully his. John had to give of himself willingly or Sherlock did not want it.  He swore as Darkran.  As Darkran.  There is no word more absolute, save that of Ydarkra Himself.  He was bound to his oath.  Were he not Darkran he knows he could not hurt John more than he already has. The fact that he loved him more than anything on this sweet earth just added to the pain.  

The past few weeks since his return, John has shown a pleasure toward his presence that he had not shown in their entire previous year that he had been blessed to have him as Darquan.  Sherlock had felt the slight change in John’s feelings before he left for Guanzexiar. Everything in his being as he and the Tekra nursed him back to health upon his return screamed John’s love for Sherlock. Sherlock’s personal vorn hinted at some of his considerably less than Darkran moments as fevers racked his body, yet John barely left his side during the entire ordeal. 

The Tekra Anderson had prescribed several remedies most of which seemed to be worse than the sickness itself and Sherlock vaguely recalled John how John held him as he purged in the most unDarkran manner from such.  The only time Sherlock can recall John leaving his side for any extended period, is when he returned with several potions that tasted as fetid as flatulence from a wild boar was foul.  John claimed it was something new from the Tekra, but Sherlock knew better.  Naturally, Anderson was as willing to take claim for the Darkran’s sudden recovery, as John seemed willing to let him.  Sherlock knew that whatever was in that most disgusting of concoctions was what finally cured him and it was of John’s doing.  When he was finally able to stay lucid for two whole days without fevers they knew the worst was over and John threw this double fete in his honor just shy of a fortnight afterward.  All of which he knew was perfectly normal behavior for a Darkran and Darquan still young in their marriage.  Their outward appearance of a happy marriage was perfectly intact due to several well-acted moments of getting “caught” being amorous.  Only he and John knew of the darquan’s still virginal status. It is what made the kiss John gave him yesterday all the more special.

Sherlock was openly admiring additions John had the engineers include in an irrigation design with his best friend, Gregory in the Armory. It was the only other room John would allow him to go to, besides the bedchambers, as he continued to recover. He didn’t know John was within earshot while he was being particularly expressive of the sharpness of John’s mind until he felt John’s arms around him.  He nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise, much to the amusement of both John and Gregory. After thanking Sherlock for his compliments on his work John leaned around and kissed him full on the lips. Sherlock was stunned for all of two seconds before he returned it hungrily. He wanted to laugh aloud when John suddenly became shy in the aftermath of his actions, blushing profusely and apologizing for his most inappropriate behavior in public areas, before walking away.  The kiss which John willingly (and publicly!) gave was honest.  Sherlock knew it was honest and it filled him with such joy and hope to be its recipient, that the return to the sweet torment as if nothing had changed between them that same night was all the more painful. 

_You will come to me willingly within the next fortnight, my darquan, I swear this!_

He nodded night tidings to the sentries on duty and pushed open the heavy wood doors to the royal chambers.  He was greeted by the heady scent of incense, flowers and beeswax candles. The chamber was softly lit by candlelight and decorated with floral arrangements. Water sat on the table a few feet from the bed and he poured a goblet for himself.  He jokingly wondered just how much he did drink as he began to unbuttoned his doublet. He glanced at the bed and noticed John was not there just as an extra set of hands appeared from behind to him unbutton the doublet.

He froze. 

Other than being forced into sleeping naked with him due to their ‘arrangement’, he had never touched him in any loving fashion other than to enforce the illusion of their marriage in public.  Never before had he even remotely given any indication of wanting to know him in any other fashion, but there was no mistaking the intent of the strong hands that ran a most enticing pattern across his back. 

Sherlock turned around in surprise.

“Ydarkra blessings befall you my Darkran.” John grinned at the stunned expression Sherlock knew was on his face as John slid the heavy material from his shoulders and kissed his arm through the sleeve of his shirting. “You must be tired from so much merriment, especially after your extended illness.  Let me assist you with your vestments.”

If John’s assistance was a surprise, the fact that John was doing so entirely naked nearly floored Sherlock.  His only adornments were being his royal markings and the matching wedding ring to his.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked hoarsely and not all that jokingly.  He could see John was trying and miserably failing to hide a grin as John stood before him and bowed formally.

_Ydarkra! What is he doing?!_

Sherlock took a much needed gulp of the cool water.

“I am John Hamish Watson. I am Darquan John, Darquan of Ydarkra Musgrave.  I am John Hamish spouse to Darkran William Sherlock Scott Holmes of Ydarkra Musgrave.  I believe most know him as Darkran Sherlock, King of Ydarkra Musgrave.  I am your Darquan, my Darkran.  Now I wish to be your love. In  _all_  sense of the title.” With that John stood from his bow, raised up on his toes and kissed Sherlock. His naked body pressed very close to his as he pulled himself closer to him. The water goblet had barely, just barely made a safe return to its stand before Sherlock’s arms surrounded him.

Sherlock gave a silent prayer of thanks to Ydarkra as John held him, truly held him for the first time as his husband.  Feeling the muscles of his back underneath his fingers, smelling the scented oils he used on his body. Sherlock had waited for so long for this moment. Now that it was here, he could not, would not rush it.

Slowly, he returned the kiss, his tongue tasting sweet remnants of the honeyed cider that was his favorite drink on hers and a tremor went through both of their bodies at the contact. Sherlock began to run kisses across his neck and shoulders.  He had to smile at the hints of jasmine in his scent.  The flowers were not in the room. John had made a point of never having them in the bedchambers from the day Sherlock not so jokingly let it slip that the scent of the flower enticed him.  John obviously remembered to use it when it counted.  He realized John was on tiptoe to accommodate his height and gently swept him up in his arms carrying him to the massive bed. 

Out of habit, John immediately reached for the covers to pull them upon himself. Sherlock gently grabbed his wrists stopping him, and wagged a finger.

“Not tonight.” Sherlock’s voiced rumbled with emotion to the deep blush that flushed through John as he released the sheeting.

“No. Not tonight.” John conceded; instead reaching for the ceremonial sashes at his waist. Fighting the urge to do it for himself, he let John undo the sashes with as the slow equal care in which he tied them this morning, then a breath of exasperation escaped him.

“Ydarkra! I fear my king; this long delay leaves me with no patience in being genteel or in any way well-mannered at this moment. If you thus desire to use any of this finery at a future ceremony you may want to remove them yourself. I very much fight the urge to take blade and simply slice through all that covers you.” To emphasize the point he removed the jeweled dagger from its scabbard at his waist.

“Oh no, no, no my darquan!  As you have tortured me for all this time in waiting, I am afraid I absolutely must take this opportunity to repay you in kind.” He knew he wore the smile that has often resulted in John calling him names no proper Darquan should ever utter; much to his amusement. “You will remove these articles of clothing with as much care and consideration in which you dressed me this day, as you had insisted on doing yourself although my vorn and I were quite capable of doing such.”

 “Oh? Well, if you insist, my Darkran.” John dipped his head and grinned.  It was the most beautiful thing Sherlock had seen, since first gazing upon John’s face when his troop arrived through the city’s gates.  Sherlock had the sneaky suspicion that he just passed some sort of test, when without another word, all the precise care and time from this morning was reduced to the removal of two jeweled daggers, a brooch and a couple of simple tugs and he was quite effectively devoid of all sashes.  At that moment Sherlock knew exactly why he insisted on dressing him. He had planned this day down to the night!

Just when he thought he could not possibly want John more, he did.  The surprises continued, as John not so gently pushed him backwards and proceeded to strip him with astounding efficiency as he rained kisses along his body in the process. Sherlock nearly lost it when John ran his tongue along the fine hairs that unofficially separate his private areas from his abdomen. Someone found the House of Adler scrolls and had done some reading! John’s obvious enjoyment in providing that very pleasure increased Sherlock’s tenfold.

They took turns in discovering each other bodies. John especially, delighting in feeling Sherlock’s entire body convulse after discovering another particularly sensitive spot in the crease where Sherlock’s thigh and hip met.

He reveled in repaying him in kind as his own kisses covered John’s body. Knowing John would not know control yet, he carefully took the length of John’s hardness to mouth. His tongue laved over, under and around watching as John quivers when he cups his cheeks and lifts him to his lips and…

Sherlock grins.

“Oh, you  _have_  read the House of Adler scrolls!”

John leans up on his elbows panicked “Was I wrong? I wanted it to be easier for you, and and…”

John glanced at Sherlock’s full erection quickly looked away. He bit his lip as he squared his shoulders and looked him in the eye as he continued “and I’ve seen  _you_. I don’t want to hurt too much and…you laugh?”

Sherlock, delighted by the sight of the cord and knowing the beads that would be attached, did not realize John would take his laughter as mockery until he sees the man’s crestfallen face.

“Oh John, my John no! I am enamored, honored by all that you’ve done to prepare for this night!” Sherlock quickly kisses him. “This is wonderful. I commend your foresight, this will make it easier for us both. Lay back down my love, let my prove it. ”

John does as bidden, pliant full of love and trust and it is not long before Sherlock has him moaning again. He reaches between John’s legs and quickly pulls the cord and two ceramic beads pop out. Only his kisses suppress John’s loud moan as his back arches from the bed. Enjoying the sound of John’s soft mewling of his name as he kisses him in as private a place as possible. His tongue flickering lightly at the puckered flesh until John was a moaning mass of pleasure.

Sherlock kisses his way back up and slides his cock along John’s in a slow rhythm, as he reaches for the flacon he knows must contain the oils. John’s pants heatedly in anticipation watching as Sherlock pours the lightly scented oils into John’s hand and uses it stroke his length. The beads have done their job, Sherlock oils his fingers three of which slide into John with little resistance and John is once is quivering and moaning before he withdraws his fingers, placing his himself just at his entrance. He feels as John tenses slightly in anticipation.

He paused and waited until John opened his eyes in confusion. Sherlock knew it was foolish.  He knew it was vain, but he had to  _know_. His feelings for John had always been out in the open. But until these past few weeks Sherlock was always in question of his.  He had to hear it said. John read him perfectly and smiled gently, his deep blue eyes dark with need stared into his as he reached up and stroked Sherlock’s face.  On some instinctive level, Sherlock knows everything they were and everything they’re going to be begins in this moment, this moment that should have started almost three years ago.

“Yes, my king, my soul, my life, my husband, I love you Darkran William Sherlock Scott Holmes of Ydarkra Musgrave. I love you, Sherlock.” He felt rather than heard the restrained urgency in John’s voice as he entered him. 

_“ **Tusarie Ydarkra Joth!** ”_

Sherlock all but screamed the words as a fire seared through his mind and body so hot, fast and furious he simply could not find the voice to scream. He immediately looked down upon his love; his first thought wondering what had John done to him.  He just as immediately knew to the core of his being that he would never, could never hurt him. He suddenly remembered receiving the small gold chain that dangled a golden disk with the royal Ydarkra seal and blue gems of the N’varren mines and the pride in becoming a Gheyanaa; lead dancer at Festival.  His mind spun.  Gheyanaa’s are girls!  His mind spun again as he beamed in pleasure at the smile on his Adonii’s face when presented with the disk of his grandson’s accomplishment as archer as his sister, Harriet showed off her Gheyanaa disk. Oh, John danced in his twin sister’s place and won the award for her. John’s Adonii and sister passed Rohn’s Hall many years ago. Long before he met John, yet at that moment he knew exactly what the old woman and his twin looked like.  Instinctively, he knew they were John’s memories, they had to be, but why was he feeling, truly  _feeling_ the immense sorrow of his Adonii’s passing.

_Ydarkra! What was happening to me?_

John actually did scream the same words that rang through his head, and only Sherlock’s immediate instinct to kiss him stifled any further screams. John called out to Mycroft. John’s hand even reached out to grasp for him in the same desperation in which Sherlock had back then.  Sherlock gasped in shock.  Mycroft passed into the Rohn’s Hall when Sherlock was ten and five years.  Of the six who witnessed the death of his brother, only he, Sir Gregory and Lady Salvadora Donovan were still alive. There was absolutely no way John would know of it except to have pulled it from his own memory as he was somehow pulling John’s. They had each tapped into meaningful events of their lives as they stared at each other; John obviously in the same state of confusion as he.

The answer came to him through John.

_Prijiaan_.

Sherlock recoiled in horror. His love, the one being he loved above and beyond everything in Ydarkra’s creation was Prijiaan?!

_The one thing I have been taught to loath, to hate, to kill since I could pronounce the vile words.  Ydarkra!_

Sherlock left the bed, grabbed the jeweled dagger and returned, the blade stopping a mere hairsbreadth from John’s throat with a blinding speed that surprised them both. John immediately fell into EntectarKesk, the supplicant form learned so many years ago as an Ombeyant adept that was as deeply instilled within John as the first impulse to kill was within Sherlock.  The only thing that kept Sherlock from following through on that instinct was the absolute knowledge that John truly did not know of his curse. Sherlock could feel the deep hurt within his own soul as John silently cursed his Adonii for not telling him the truth as he suddenly understood the reasoning behind every lesson Rosaline Pauline Watson pounded into him. To protect themselves Prijiaan and Taprashii pass their knowledge along parent to child only if the child showed signs of having been majinn touched. It was not uncommon for Prijiaan or Taprashii parents to have non-majinned children. Thus knowing he was of Prijiaan lineage, John had accepted it at face value that he was not of the majinn. After all he had been  _read_  hadn’t he? Read by the Royal’s own DeMarnos before they were allowed to marry and still, he was here.  John’s parents died in the rains the year he was born, thus the responsibility fell to his Adonii. Though Harriet exhibited the signs of being of the majinn, John did not. Rosaline a Prijiaan herself, chose to teach in a way that gave her grandchildren what they needed to survive without ever giving away that John was Prijiaan also. He truly never suspected it of himself, in fact had no clue what magic he may have. Sherlock flung the blade to the floor where it landed embedded into the wood. 

That it was also thrown in easy reach of retrieval was not lost on John.

_Ydarkra!_

He turned to John suddenly, as another realization dawned upon him. John had curled into the corner of the bed pleading for his forgiveness and his life, terrified of Sherlock’s instinctive reaction. John was speaking the words, but Sherlock felt John’s inner fear as surely as he realized John could feel his own turmoil. John felt for him, John knew by all rights that he had to be executed.  He was Prijiaan.  It was law. Sherlock could feel – could actually  _feel_ John’s terror, at having to be slain by the hand he had so grown to love beyond anything in this life.

John did not the actuality of his death itself, but what he knew his death in this manner it would do to Sherlock.  He was not afraid to die for the sake of his own soul, he was afraid to die for the sake of  _his_. That brought forth another even more powerful realization and John’s head snapped up in sudden hope as that same realization found its way into his being.

_Tusarie Ydarkra Joth ._

Better known as The Joining among the majinn born; the ultimate in sharing between lovers.  It can occur as long as at least one of the united is pure Prijiaan born. The couple is forever locked together in heart and soul. They will share every thought and emotion of their mate as well as their own. Making love, the ultimate expression of a couples feeling for each other is doubly reciprocated as one experiences their own pleasure and that of their mate simultaneously. It must be equal in its intensity for both or it will not happen. It was verboten to even talk about it openly. John would not have had Tusarie Ydarkra Joth explained to him until the morning after his wedding night but only if he had actually experienced Joining and asked someone among the majinned about it. By his assumed wedding night, his Adonii was long gone and absolutely no one knew that after nearly three years of being married, tonight was their true wedding night. Had Sherlock not been Darkran born and learned all of this at the tutelage of the DeMarnos neither he nor John would now know this much.

It is said among those who believed in the majinned that Tusarie Ydarkra Joth is the closest one can ever come to knowing the feeling of being with Ydarkra Himself.  Above all else, Joining can only occur between to people who do in fact love each other above and beyond all else.

_When you remove the impossible, all else no matter how improbable was the eternal truth._

Any doubt of John’s love for him, it was erased by that simple irrefutable fact. They were  _Joined_.  

_Tusarie Ydarkra Joth!_

Through Ydarkra is all joined.

Sherlock reached out to John, pulling him into his arms. His fingers slide across the scar on his left shoulder and more memories flood in. Both gasp in the realization they have at last identified each other at the wading pool from oh so many years ago.  Through John, Sherlock sees how John stayed in that prone position for quite some time after he, Gregory and his brother rode off, all the while terrified of being seen, until John’s best friend Michelle Stamford came for him.  He realizes how John did not lie when claiming the scar to be reminder of a childhood mistake and could not honestly claim to know how it got there. John had not opened his eyes even when he was accidentally knocked over.

_What had he said then?_

“All that is meant to be known to us, Ydarkra makes known to us, in a time of His own making.” He heard John’s trembling voice recite the words within his own soul as surely, as if he had spoken them aloud. 

_Indeed Ydarkra had finally let them know in His own time._

Words were not spoken. On some level he realized he may never again need them with him at least within the privacy of this chamber. Not knowing what else to do, Sherlock kissed him.  The relief that flooded through his body, flooded through him. The pleasure of the kiss and the feel of his body that flooded through him flooded through him.

At first, they moved slowly.  Having waited so long for, both of them wanted to savor the moment even more in light of this newest discovery.  Still, the very hunger for the moment itself could not be denied, as they took all that they gave to each other and then some. John having nothing to compare it to took it for all it was worth. Sherlock having considerable more experience marveled in each sensation as though brand new.  His fingers trace intoxicating patterns across his back and arms and he finds herself tingling from the impossibly gentle, but definite presence of his touch.  His raw admiration of his body displayed in his expression.  He is as embarrassed as much as it pleases him.

Sherlock touches him lightly, but to him it was as if he were suddenly everywhere at once as where his caresses went his kisses followed.  He could actually feel what felt good to him and how he instinctively moved to reciprocate the feeling within him. He gasps as he touches him, setting his own personal fire to every square inch of him.  He can’t help but enjoy his wicked satisfaction when a moan escapes from his lips as he finds his hardness and uses the joining to increase his pleasure.

They quickly learn how to please each other. With equal reciprocity, a moan escapes from John now and he knows he feels his own wicked desire as the heat of the kisses to his most intimate of places causes him to cry out his name.  His kisses his way back up his body until they are face to face again, he pulls a pillow under John’s hip, positioning himself and feels John’s pause. Sherlock sees and feels the questioning within him.  Unlike the first pause, Sherlock feels when John feels his soul. The things he cannot yet put into words flowing through him. 

Everything he has learned to believe changes with this acceptance of him, of all of him. He knows he cannot give him all that he wants as a Prijiaan, yet, but he equally knows that he will give him all that he has. It is enough and within himself, he hears his fervent, desperate plea.

“Please! Now!”

And he enters John anew.

Sherlock bit his lip in the unexpected burst of pain. He stills for a moment feeling John, and his pain subside, he slowly beginning to move, promising it will soon get better. He kisses him and slowly adjusts his rhythm as he begins to understand the feel of the most intimate of pleasure.

The incredible sensations of first time flow to Sherlock through him. All the fear, all the excitement, all the joy from a whole new perspective. It is all he can do not to simply stare in wonder of the moment, but the body has its own needs.  They find a rhythm. Slow and controlled at first until neither can hold back anymore and give in with full abandon. John’s fingers dig into him as the complete wonder of loving making pushes him to the brink. Sherlock felt tears and truly did not know if they were John’s or his, nor did he care. The joining pushing his levels of pleasure and control beyond anything he had ever thought he had known to the point when all exploded within and without.

“Is it always like this?” John quietly asked several long moments later as sanity returned.

Sherlock shook his head in quick denial. In all his exploits and experiments with sex before he chose celibacy and he admitted to many, he knew he had no choice now, Tusarie Ydarkra Joth adds a level of intensity, of love, of pleasure and intimacy that has no possible equal in the non-majinned world. He says the words aloud to John anyway.

John drew ancient Ydarkran symbols across Sherlock’s chest, symbols that are never taught to a Darquan.  He immediately stopped as Sherlock’s thoughts reached his; he immediately stopped the train of thought as John’s apprehension reached him and forced himself to relax. He knew John felt the apology within him when John relaxed in understanding. 

Prijiaan knowledge or not this was going to be a serious learning curve for both of them.  He had absolutely no one he could turn to for advice without revealing the secret and thus placing both of their lives and the kingdom at risk. He realized through his similar thoughts he was equally bound to the secrecy for the same reasons.  Trapped in the secrecy of their joining, their joining was expression of their love, and their love was the reason for their joining.

_Ydarkra!_

Sherlock groaned aloud.  John leaned up on one arm to look at him. Sherlock started to speak, but he felt John’s desire for silence just as the darquon put a finger to his lips. Then smiled as Sherlock felt John’s next thought and followed through by caressing his face. Sherlock followed through on the thought, by leaning down to kiss him. Sherlock burst into laughter, springing to life at John’s unmasked desire.

He outwardly responds by guiding John’s hand to his own physical response to the silent request, drawing him close.

“Yes, we can do this again, tempter”

◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►◄▼►

Voices awaken Sherlock and he realizes the Tekra is the chamber with him. He was about to panic seeing the evidence of their love-making in the bed but not John.  He immediately feels John within him ordering him to relax and listen.  It is disconcerting for a moment before he remembers last night. 

_Tusarie Ydarkra Joth._

Sherlock does as instructed and listens as John explains aloud how he somehow cut herself with the jeweled ceremonial blades that adorned the Darkran vestments, as they were undressing for the night.  It was not so worthy a wound to awaken the Tekra in the middle of the night for his services, but his Darkran insisted that he see to it at first light.  Sherlock almost choked in laughter, as comprehension dawns upon him.

At some point in the night, John went to use the privy chamber. He nearly tripped over the blade Sherlock had flung to the floor, half asleep he wasn’t paying attention when he reached down and snatched the blade out of the floor and cut himself. Neither were about to explain why the blade was in the floor. He could have dressed it himself, but as he would have to call the tekra for the proper dressings, he just let the man do it.

 “The fault, I’m afraid, was mine.” Sherlock made a modest show of yawning as he sat up in bed, brushing strands of his dark curls from his face. “Having been away from my darquan for so long and to have it further delayed by that Ydarkran forsaken illness, I may have been somewhat - hasty - in the removal of my vestments as my darquan and I – um - celebrated - my recovery.”

“My Darkran!” Came the astonished outcry from Tekra Anderson as he tended John’s hand. Both men laughed heartily as he lifted his head smiling himself. 

“There!” The Tekra tied the bandage with a flourish, stood and bowed. “Your hand will scarcely show a mark, if any at all, when it is healed, my Darquan.  I bid unto Ydarkra a fair morning to you both.”

“As we bid unto you, my gentle Tekra.” John inclined his head.

Sherlock could feel the stifled bubble of laughter within his darquan knowing John could feel the emotional equivalent of Sherlock rolling his eyes, even as he bid his own proper farewell to the healer.  When the chamber door closed solidly behind the physician, they released the laughter. 

“Good morning, my darquan.” He grinned, climbing out of the bed to get water. “I confess to forgetting how your mind can work. I miss playing rigiotta with you, you have…John!” 

It was Sherlock’s turn to be astonished as John’s full admiration for his naked form and the immediate lust it stirred within him came to him.  Sherlock could not help it as images from just a couple of hours ago flooded through him to him and brought an undeniably physical response.

“Ydarkra!  This is impossible!”  Sherlock slammed the goblet down in frustration.  John simply arched a knowing blond brow as his Sherlock’s stiffening form belied his truer feelings. John stood, loosening the ties on his dressing gown, letting it slowly fall from his shoulders.

“Curse you!” Sherlock crossed the space between them in quick massive strides, kissing John just before the robe fully hit the floor.  It was rumored that you could always tell a couple who have  _Joined_  because they do not leave the bridal chamber for days. 

Sherlock now understood why as they engage in a repeat performance.

 

 John curses and crosses the space between them in massively quick strides, kissing 

 

 

 

‘Tell me what you want, Sherlock.’ John breathed against his mouth. Sherlock’s own breathing hitched, and he made a frustrated noise. John smiled. ‘We have more than one option. We can not do penetration.’ He paused, checking Sherlock’s expression. Sherlock thought it sounded nice, perhaps, but strangely unfulfilling. He let his expression say as much. ‘Well, then. I could be on top.’ Came the next suggestion. Sherlock was briefly puzzled, before quickly figuring it out. Right. The flush was rising in his ears again, but it still didn’t feel quite right. John saw that too, so he pressed on. ‘Or you could be on top. I’m really rather… flexible.’ Sherlock felt a jolt race down his spine and John smiled knowingly. ‘And we have a winner,’ He murmured against Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock felt very nearly undone.

He roughly pulled John forwards by the hips, and kissed him again – thoroughly, claiming, biting, possessive. John moaned into his mouth, which Sherlock felt was unfairly sexy. He retaliated by undoing John’s trousers, pushing them off his hips so the landed in a crumple on the floor, which John stepped out of. John’s own hands found the clasps of Sherlock’s trousers and Sherlock stood to be rid of them, deciding to remove his and John’s shorts at the same time. John gasped a little, and Sherlock sighed at the first feel of skin on wonderfully naked skin.

John pushed at his shoulders, pushing him back to half sit propped up on the pillows against the headboard, and followed, grabbing the tube and packet off the stand before settling his hips across Sherlock’s. Sherlock groaned, and could tell that John was biting his lip to prevent a similar noise. He pulled John down to his and kissed him, and felt the moan as their erections rubbed against each other. There was a small noise, a cap being opened, something being squeezed out slickly. Then John was sitting up, twisting an arm behind himself, and Sherlock quickly realized that he was fingering himself, and _god_ that was sexy. Especially when John arched his back like that.

John’s focus was all on his own fingers, twisting and stretching, so he didn’t notice when Sherlock slicked his own fingers before sitting up so quickly the John lost his balance and fell backwards, fingers slipping out as he tried not to twist his shoulder.

‘Sherlock–’ Whatever John had been about to saw was lost on a breathless moan as Sherlock’s own long fingers replaced John’s. John’s blue eyes locked with Sherlock’s grey, before he twisted his fingers and found what he was looking for. Anatomy texts were good for something, he thought with satisfaction, as John practically writhed in his lap. He continued to stroke that spot as he eased in three fingers. John was soon nearly incoherent with pleasure. God he was sensitive. Sherlock let his other hand roam, tweaking nipples experimentally, and liking the toss of the sandy blond head at that. John’s erection was leaking now, and Sherlock let him up, subsiding back onto the pillows and pulling John up against his chest. Sherlock kissed him for a few long moments, before John recovered himself enough to sit upright.

John, with only a little less efficiency than normal, opened the package and rolled the condom over Sherlock’s rather neglected erection, before lubing it with a deliciously sinful twist of fingers. Sherlock let out a ragged moan, and then John was hovering over him, and Sherlock brought his knees up and planted his feet on the bed, offering more support that John gratefully took. A hand wrapped around the base of Sherlock’s cock and John eased onto him. It was slow going. A strangled murmur confirmed that he was the first man John had had since before he enlisted.

An age later, John was finally fully enveloping him. The feeling was hot and tight and perfect, and Sherlock _never_ wanted to let John go now. John’s face was scrunched up in concentration, and Sherlock supposed that it was hardly a comfortable thing, at first anyway, to be on the receiving end of this sort of sex. He rubbed soothing circles into John’s hips, and his face slowly smoothed out. It took a great deal of willpower not to just give in to the instinct that was raging through his body and pound into him. But Sherlock prided himself on control _(in some areas of his life. In others, well…)_ , and he wasn’t going to move until John was all right.

Soon John gave out a small sigh and rocked his hips, biting his lip. Sherlock’s tenuous control slipped a little and he bucked tentatively against John, whose head fell forward with a pleased moan. Mmm, cant the hips like that, then, to wring maximum pleasure from his John.

_His_ John. He liked the sound of that. He thrust again, and John’s hands scrabbled for purchase against his shoulders and then he was taking an active role in this, timing with Sherlock’s thrusts, and _god_ this was perfect and lovely and _John_ …

‘John.’ He murmured, and watched with a small smile as John’s eyes snapped shut and his head fell forward again, the ends of his hair tickling Sherlock’s chest.

‘Sherlock,’ came the hoarse murmur, cut off with a strangled cry as Sherlock thrust against John’s prostate again, rocking his hips in a circular motion. ‘ _Nnngh, god_ , Sherlock. Not – _ah_ – going to last much longer if you – _mmmnh_ – keep up like that.’ Sherlock smirked, wrapping a hand round the back of John’s neck and drawing him down for another long kiss.

‘You don’t have to, John. Come apart for me. Let me see you.’ He murmured hot breath ticking John’s ear. John let out another quiet moan, and his left hand slipped – Sherlock could see that the shoulder scar looked a little inflamed as John dropped on top of him. Sherlock sat up, arms curled around John’s back to keep him close. John rearranged his legs so they were wrapped around Sherlock’s back. They were still for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes intently before John’s eyelids lowered to half-mast and deliberately clenched his muscles around Sherlock, rocking his hips gently. Sherlock let out a strangled cry and dropped his head to rest on John’s shoulder. John chuckled breathlessly.

‘You looked too in control.’ He murmured. ‘You’re supposed to be letting go just as much as I am.’ Sherlock looked up at him through his curls with a sly gleam in his eyes. Then he released his hold on John, easing him to lie on his back on the bed. He shifted his grip, one hand on John’s hip the other grasping a well-muscled thigh and drew almost all the way out before slamming back in, canting his hips just right, and John’s eyes slammed shut and he _keened_ , and it was one of the most gorgeous things Sherlock had ever seen. And Sherlock wanted to see John climax, to see him at his most vulnerable, to know that John would let Sherlock _do_ this to him, would _trust_ him to this level. Because Sherlock was a right possessive _bastard_ , and knew it all too well.

The hand he had on John’s hip slipped up, wrapping long, violinist’s fingers around John’s erection, and stroked in a long, twisting motion that had John nearly _screaming_ with pleasure. Manual dexterity was one benefit of having played the violin since he was eight, and on the incredibly rare occasions he’d taken himself to hand, he’d very quickly found what was the most pleasurable. He felt oddly happy to share that with John.

‘Sherlock – god, too _much_ – Sherlock _please_ –’ John’s vocalisations were beautiful, sounding through his own body, every gasp and moan and occasional word.

‘John,’ he breathed, and cloudy blue eyes looked up at him through sandy lashes and he had to kiss John again, but drew away quickly, wanting to see everything. ‘Come for me, John.’ He said, voice low and husky and rough. John’s eyelids fluttered, his back arched as Sherlock slammed his prostate on the next thrust and twisted his fingers _just so_ , and John was shattering beneath him, coming as if his orgasm was being wrenched from him. And he was exquisite. Sherlock thrust only a few more times before coming also, the aftershocks running through John’s body too much for him. He leaned forward and kissed John, burying his face in his neck and coming apart with a growl _(he wasn’t sure what he said, if indeed he’d managed to say anything at all)_ , biting the side of John’s neck, right below his ear.

A few moments later, after the haze of the afterglow was receding, Sherlock rid himself of the condom and retrieved a warm, damp cloth and proceeded to clean up his rather sleepy-looking lover. He was prepared to return to his own cot in his bedroom, as they had never spent the night together yet, but lingered hopefully. He was rewarded when John lazily tugged him down, curling into Sherlock’s very willing embrace as the taller man pulled the blanket over them both.

They lay like that for a while, and Sherlock contemplated sleep. It was looking quite attractive. Sherlock had almost thought John was asleep when the other spoke quietly.

‘Did you mean it?’ He asked, and Sherlock was puzzled. He made an inquiring noise. ‘When you came, you said – you said “mine”.’ John explained, and Sherlock’s embrace tightened slightly, and Sherlock tried to swallow around the lump lodged in his throat. ‘I just wanted to know – did you mean it?’

‘I – well, yes.’ He admitted. ‘I know I’m not the most tolerable person in existence, but I’m not entirely sure what I’m do with myself without you anymore. I think I – this is horrifically clichéd, and I may never forgive myself, you understand – but I think I love you.’ Sherlock told John, feeling somehow lighter and also horrifically nervous. John chuckled.

‘Only think you do? I may be hurt.’ He said and Sherlock smiled a little and buried his nose in John’s hair

‘It’s not as it I have a wealth of knowledge on the subject, John. And I consider it fair warning to let you know that I have been feeling horribly possessive and I’m likely to be insufferable.’ He said. He could feel John smiling against his collarbones.

‘I think I can live with that. Oh, and I love you too, you daft bugger.’ Sherlock smiled widely, glad that John couldn’t see him, and pressed a kiss to John’s head.

‘That is very good to know.’

\-----

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock is up and off, moving quickly as he locates the bottle and brings it back to the bed. John has shifted, sliding up the bed until his head is on the pillows. He looks every inch the retired soldier, a glowing remnant of hard work and loyalty, his body bearing memory of every battle he has charged into. He is warm and welcoming and he holds a hand out toward Sherlock as he settles a hand back behind his head.

Sherlock takes it and eases forward on the bed, watching John's face, his hands steady as he kneels above him. "I thought you preferred-"

"I want to do it this way," says John and kisses Sherlock's fingertips. "I want to do this right."

"It would be right either way," says Sherlock and John grins. "Look, John, I know you're being considerate and I do appreciate it, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

John chuckles and reaches for the bottle, opening it up and squeezing it out over Sherlock's fingers. "So make sure I'm not," he says and leans up for a kiss. "I trust you, idiot."

Sherlock nods and leans down, his lean frame covering John's own. He presses his mouth against John's ear and the whispered _thank you_ is barely audible to either of them. It is felt, though and John sighs as he feels Sherlock's hand on his skin, slick and slippery as it investigates his flesh. He moves his thigh easily, exposing every part of himself with pleasure at offering up some new sensation to the greatest explorer of them all.

He kisses Sherlock when the man offers his mouth, sucking slowly at the proffered tongue and sweet tasting lips. John arches his back, trying to help with the angle here and catches his breath when the tightly puckered entrance is located, rubbed and pushed at. "Go easy," he murmurs against Sherlock's mouth. "The trick is to work slowly."

"I never work slowly," complains Sherlock, but his hands move, fingers whisper light as he nudges and rubs, circling round the tender skin that will give way. John swears he can feel the man force his mind to concentrate on this and this alone. It's as though all Sherlock's prowess has slipped to his hand and John rolls his hips leisurely as he feels the push and sudden slip of a long digit past the entrance. He arches up again and feels it sink deeper, but Sherlock has stilled and John kisses him again.

"There we go," he says and feels Sherlock's forehead against his own. "Right there."

Sherlock barely nods, his fingers working cleverly to rub and draw back, to open where everything is usually snuck up closed. A second digit is worked forward and in and John pants slightly, offering up his body and the heat of his skin. He can feel the slick weight of Sherlock's erection against his belly and his own cock, a low thrum of want pulsing at his groin.

"John," murmurs Sherlock and wriggles a third finger against the entrance as he draws the others back. "This is right, isn't it?"

"You're doing a great job," says John and reaches down, his hand capturing Sherlock's wrist. He works slowly, easing them both forward and though he has to pant before he can gain some control again, he can feel the slide of fingers inside him, stretching out and searching for the smooth bump that they're both aware of and only John has experience of. "Not yet," he says and Sherlock groans.

"Can I?" is his only question and John kisses him again as he draws their hands back. "John?"

"Easy now," says John and reaches for the bottle. He tilts his head at Sherlock. "Condoms?"

"Well, obviously," says Sherlock and stares down at his fingers briefly before he finds the box from the side of the bed. John watches as he sheathes up, grinning at the ease with which he manages it. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him. "It's not the first time I've done _this_ ," he says and drops the box to the floor as he leans forward. "I needed to know."

"You always need to know," says John and lifts his right leg, one foot braced a little awkwardly against Sherlock's shoulder. "Come on then," he says and draws Sherlock forward. "Slow, remember?"

"I hate slow," says Sherlock, but he's careful when he moves and John never has a second's doubt as the man leans over and, with slicked up fingers and cock, presses forward. He can feel the brush of cock against his balls and then the rub is lower, slicker and John remembers everything he can about easing the way. There are tricks to everything, if you look and he bears down hard as Sherlock pushes against the tight ringed entrance.

John pants as Sherlock eases forward and he presses his hands to the man's hip, John's toes scrunched up against his shoulder. With a deep breath, he slides his fingers round, pressing into the firm curve of Sherlock's ass and he pulls forward. There's no sound outside his own head, but it feels like one second he is John, entire and alone and then he is entered, connected and he groans loudly, surprised as Sherlock echoes it.

He looks up and Sherlock is struggling to breathe, but his eyes are entirely on John, focussed and determined as always. John grins at him with some effort and pushes back, his hips flexed almost uncomfortably as he gets used to being filled. "See," he manages, "it's worth going slow."

"John," begins Sherlock and then shakes his head. He moves John's foot from his shoulder and brings it down to his hip as he leans forward. He settles his face against John's cheek and kisses there, his voice quiet when he does speak. "You are an entirely brilliant and amazing human being and I would be lost without you."

John smiles and kisses the man's cheek. "Yeah, I feel the same way about you," he says and pulls at Sherlock's ass. "Let's have sex then."

Sherlock chuckles softly and moves. His hands slide against John's shoulders and he moves, slow but with increasing pace as John's touches urge him onward. They slide together on the mattress, hips moving harder until John suddenly gasps and Sherlock freezes.

"No, go on," pants John. "Good angle. Just...do it again."

Sherlock blinks but he moves forward, arching his back so that he can manage the same type of thrust and John revels in his flatmate's attention to detail. He shifts on the bed, clutching hard enough against Sherlock's bum to create ten perfect bruises. Each pump of Sherlock's hips brings them both closer to the brink and he gasps when Sherlock moves a hand to grasp the hard length of John's cock.

The _I'm close_ is evident from Sherlock's insistent pressure and John succumbs entirely. He cries out at the climax, feeling the slick liquid spilling over his belly in what feels like gallons. His hips draw up and he clenches everywhere. He can feel the harder thrusts as Sherlock pants and John closes his eyes, allowing himself to surrender until, moments later, he can feel the rumble in Sherlock's throat that seems to roll over both of them.

There's a sudden hard thrust that almost hurts and then Sherlock is pressed into him so deeply it feels as though they're both pinned to the mattress. John can feel the gasp against his neck and he lifts a hand to stroke the man's hair. There's so much silence in the room and John wonders how many moments they will have like this. He wonders if it was always going to end up here and whether it will ever happen again.

There's some low murmuring he can't decipher and Sherlock draws back, easing out of him and disposing of the mess. John lets him do it, lazily deciding that since he usually does the clearing up, this is only fair. He turns his head as Sherlock sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to touch him.

"You okay?"

Sherlock nods and turns back to look at him. "Perhaps I'm a fainting virgin after all."

"Well, not fainting," says John and raises an eyebrow. "Not a virgin either."

"No," says Sherlock. "But, I do feel a little light headed."

John nods and holds his arm out. "Well, you should come to bed. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "John, we have definitely not been playing doctor. Please don't attempt to-"

John sits up and presses his lips to Sherlock's. "The world's still spinning," he says. "We didn't break anything."

Sherlock licks his lip. "I think perhaps I have undervalued sentiment."

"I don't think you ever undervalue anything," says John. "It's dangerous, after all."

Sherlock smiles. "And here you are."

"Right," says John and draws him back against the bed. "I think this is where I belong."

"Cleaning up after me?"

"By your side," he says and glances out at the sun peeking through the curtains. "It's lunch time. Come on, quick sleep and I'll make you something to eat. And you _will_ eat it."

Sherlock nods and closes his eyes, arms wrapped round John as he settles in bed. "It'll always be a ten, John."

"Uh oh, pressure," grins John. "Nothing like a perfectionist boyfriend!"

"Boyfriend?"

"I think so," says John. "Who else is going to look after me when I'm smashed?"

 

 


End file.
